


Eucalyptus

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4633929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feren takes care of Bard when Bard won’t take care of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eucalyptus

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Bard works very hard and has too many responsibilities, his life is difficult, stressful, and lacking any luxury. Since his wife died he hasn't had any time for his own needs. I need a lover to bathe, massage, rim, suck off, and fuck him slow and sweet until he unravels and lets himself let go (there could be sobbing). Of course Bard doesn't think he has time or deserves attention or can let his guard down, so he might have to be coerced or forced into it” prompt on the Hobbit Kink Meme.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The house is quiet save for the occasion squeak of too-old wood, the children all to bed and Bard too tired to speak. Feren is quiet, like always, but strong and beautiful, his presence ever-felt. His weight is surprisingly feather-light, balanced atop Bard’s rear, thighs spread out to either side of him and long fingers kneading down his spine. Bard rests his cheek on his pillow, splayed out on his stomach, with his hair still wet from the bath and the warmth still clinging to his skin. It was good to have Feren thread his hands into Bard’s dark tangles, massaging them loose to soap and wet, wash clean. It’s better still to have Feren massaging him now, where he can lie on his bed in peace and tempt dreams. 

He doesn’t quite want to sleep, of course. He wants to remain conscious, to drink in as much as he can. He doesn’t _deserve_ this, but he craves it anyway. He grew up in a world that seemed devoid of dwarves and elves and halflings far away, and it’s strange to have that magical wonder now attending to him. And naked, no less. Feren, bared to him, treats him like the king he never asked to be. Feren works his tense muscles until they’re relaxed and joyous, and then Feren leans down to press a kiss between Bard’s shoulder blades. Bard can feel the gentle flutter of moist lips, and the busy fingers pour more oil over him, working it down the curve of his spine to the top of his ass. Casting a shadow over Bard’s moonlit back, Feren leans closer to murmur, “Would you like to be pleasured again?”

 _Yes_. Again and again, as many times as Feren will offer. But it’s late, and Feren’s already done _so much_ for him. So Bard just mumbles, “You spoil me.” Feren chuckles. It’s a lovely sound, low and hushed; Feren can fight as fierce as any other warrior, but at the core of it, he’s subdued, kind but careful and always _there_ when Bard needs him. 

Feren purrs, “You deserve to be spoiled,” and presses his open mouth to Bard’s shoulder. He sucks in a deep kiss that makes Bard shiver in delight. Both of Feren’s oil-slicked hands run up the arch of Bard’s back, digging in _hard_ to turn his sore skin tingling and tender. Sometimes, Feren makes him feel _young_ again.

Bard sighs, “You already sucked me off twice today.” He’d fisted his fingers in Feren’s hair the first time, guided him on and off and stroked the elegant points of his ears. The second was under Bard’s desk, Bard trying to work and Feren _so perfect_ , eagerly licking and suckling at him until he came with a cry and watched his lover swallow it all. Feren’s entirely too good to him. 

Feren muses, “And I enjoyed both times.” He seemed to, but Bard still feels guilty. Between three children and a new city to run, he rarely has the time and energy to pay Feren enough attention in return. He can’t even remember the last time he gave Feren a massage. But Feren never seems to mind, continues to knead Bard’s flesh and murmurs knowingly into his ear, “You are tired and worn, and I enjoy relieving you when I can. You are a more than worthy master of both your realm and my heart, and I ask you again to answer me truthfully. Would you like to be pleasured before you sleep?”

With a sigh and no strength to resist, Bard gives in. He nods against his pillow, muttering, “Yes, but I’m too tired to fuck. Can you just... will you make love to me?”

He can practically feel Feren’s smile, though he can’t look back enough to see it. Another kisses presses to Bard’s shoulder, and then against the nape of his neck, some of the dark, water-slicked hair brushed gently aside. The next kiss comes a little lower down his spine, and Feren follows a trail that way, licking and kissing right down to Bard’s tailbone, so that he has to climb off Bard’s rear and crawl down the mattress. At least this one’s better than his old one in Lake-town. At least he has curtains without holes to draw across his windows, though they’re too light, and the stars still shine through. Feren has a few candles lit that seem to burn on and on by the magic of the elves, and will likely whisk out at the snap of Feren’s fingers. Feren’s oil-wet hands curl around the twin peaks of Bard’s ass and draw them coyly aside, leaving room for Feren’s chin to duck between. 

The first swipe of Feren’s tongue along Bard’s hole makes him grunt, suck in a breath and fist his fingers in the sheets. Feren’s mouth on him always gets him going, but it’s mostly anticipation—knowing what’s coming. Neither of them is wearing anything, and even having descended down his body, he can still feel Feren’s torso atop his thighs, one of Feren’s knees hooked over his ankle. Everywhere their skin touches is tantalizing. Feren doesn’t seem to mind the taste of the oil that drizzles down his crack and just licks away at Bard’s puckered hole. Holding Bard’s ass open, Feren spreads his tongue over the same spot again and again, trying different angles, lavish strokes and little flicks, wet and spongy and pleasantly _hot_ , while Bard trembles against the sheets and tries to peer over his shoulder to see what he can. Feren’s long, brown hair is drawn back from his face, tied in a little tail behind his head, the rest cascading down his creamy skin. He looks so very _perfect_ —too good for Bard by far.

He licks Bard anyway, as though he’s never had anything more delicious. Sometimes, he presses his tongue flat against the entrance, others just circles the brim, until he’s finally curling up and trying to poke inside. The lewd, wet sounds mingle with Bard’s own quickened breath. Feren’s careful, slow and gentle, and only brings himself inside naturally. Bard’s walls open up for his partner’s eager mouth. With the tip inside, Feren withdraws out and pushes in, setting into a smooth rhythm that goes a little deeper every time and makes Bard clench his teeth to stifle the noise. Feren doesn’t just squirm inside him, Feren _licks_ at his insides, curving this way and that and lapping at them, lips sucking at the muscles around the outside. Bard can feel saliva and oil being worked into him, prodded deeper, and then a single finger slips inside beside Feren’s tongue, massaging him again. Feren shifts so that one hand holds Bard open while the other slithers out of him and reaches under to cup his balls. Feren rubs them gently while his thumb pushes into Bard’s hole, and Bard’s licked and stroked until he’s rutting into the mattress and mumbling brokenly, “Feren, _Feren_...”

Feren doesn’t answer, simply withdraws his hands and mouth to kiss one pert cheek, and then he rises to his knees. Bard looks back, lifting his rear up and _wanting_ , while Feren flicks some of his hair back and positions himself lovingly over Bard’s body. 

He slides inside Bard with ease—slow and steady, but Bard’s open and wet and _hungry_ for it. There’s no pain. Feren uses one hand to hold Bard’s waist steady, lest Bard impale himself too fast as he’s wont to, and Feren rocks his way in bit by bit, until he’s fully sheathed in Bard’s cavern, and Bard’s quivering around him with a sense of utter _completeness_ that only Feren can bring him. 

Feren’s long, a little thick, slightly curved and soft even when hard, forgiving and warm. He reaches one hand on either side of Bard’s body and lowers himself down, negligible weight draping over Bard’s back. He wraps one arm around Bard, but Bard catches the other, threading Feren’s fingers over his and pinning it against the mattress. Feren leans his face against Bard’s and lets out a long, languid sigh. Then he begins to move. 

He does it gradually, like everything else tonight. A luxurious slide in, a teasing retraction, and it repeats again, taking Bard deep and thick every time. His breathing is even, Elven stamina unaffected, but even with it as kind as it is, Bard loses himself in it, in his own desire. It’s strangely relaxing, in a way: he can feel Feren’s _care_ for him, and he’s _safe_ in that, and it feels so _good_ and dizzying. He lets his head fog with it, lets his mind thin, pleasure pervading his body. He lets himself _go_.

Under Feren’s doting, Bard unravels. All the stress of every day, of raising children alone and trying to rebuild a broken city and hardly having enough food to go around—it builds up sometimes into insurmountable walls that he sections off, tucks away, because he needs to be _strong_ and can’t afford to crumble. Feren’s embrace is the only place he can admit how terrifying that is. This alone is where he can release all those worries. For once, it’s someone else taking care of _him_. Feren goes above and beyond that. Feren pampers him. Feren treats him better than he ever thought he would be, and if he’d known this was his future, all the struggles of his past would’ve been far easier to endure. Feren’s his bright light at the end of an exhausting tunnel. Feren moves fluidly in and out of him, sparking joy along his nervous system on every subtle movement. 

There might be tears in Bard’s eyes. He isn’t sad, just pent up and maybe overflowing. Feren kisses his cheek, then the corner of his eye, licking any water away. Feren murmurs, “You are so beautiful, my Bard, in every way that you could.” Bard shuts his eyes, so full of gratitude that he can’t speak. 

He used to fight Feren more on this. He would insist he wasn’t worthy—still isn’t—and he _tried_ to convince Feren to return to Mirkwood, where he could live in a castle with great wealth instead of Bard’s pitiful hovel. There, he could serve a better king. Feren does go back occasionally. But he always returns with gifts for the children and sweet touches for Bard, and even though Bard tries to let him go, tries to steer him to a better life, deep down, Bard often _fears_ that possibility that Feren won’t return. He never says it aloud. He just squeezes Feren’s hand tighter and wishes he were immortal, so they could make love all through the night without sleep threatening the horizon. 

On a particularly slow thrust inside, Feren whispers something in Bard’s ear, silken Elvish, too pretty for Bard to understand. Somehow, he knows it’s _I love you._ He doesn’t know how Feren could mean that, but he _does_ , and Bard _feels it_ , and he moans back, “I love you too.”

The hand wrapped around Bard’s body works its way down, until Feren’s sliding his fingers around Bard’s cock. He massages it tenderly, giving a few small squeezes and a pump or two, and then Bard’s gasping and can’t last. He spends himself in Feren’s hand, his mind blanking and his vision blurring, while his body burns red-hot to the edges and he tries to buck up into his lover. He’s squeezing Feren’s hand too tightly but can’t seem to let go. He lives, for a brief time, in that delicious ecstasy, and then he comes spiraling down, heavier than ever. 

Feren finishes shortly after, as though in tune with Bard’s rhythms, spilling warm and wet inside Bard’s flexing channel. Even in his exhausted haze, Bard enjoys the sensation, and he clenches to help milk it out. When Feren’s finished, he lifts up, pulling out with a wet popping noise, and Bard is left open and leaking and thoroughly, pleasantly satiated. 

Feren lies next to Bard in their little bed, one hand reaching to massage Bard’s back, as though picking up right where he left off. Bard dons a lazy grin and shifts closer, leaning to press a chaste kiss to Feren’s lips. Feren mumbles, “Perhaps we should have done that _before_ the bath.”

Bard shakes his head. He barely has the strength to push himself up on his elbows, and he crawls half atop Feren before he collapses, their legs now intertwined and chests pressed together, Bard’s a little slick with sweat and Feren’s only moist from the bath. Around a yawn, Bard insists, “Stop fretting and sleep with me.” Feren grins but kindly doesn’t remark on the possible innuendo. 

He doesn’t look so tired. He’s _beautiful_. And he’s the last thing Bard sees before he drifts off to the best sleep he’s had in ages.


End file.
